


Serenade

by maximum_overboner



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Petting, One-Sided Attraction, PWP, Passionate Makeouts, Sort Of, black hat displaying Monster Strength, black hat is a dickhead in this, elements of humour, it's weird and complicated, lizardhat - Freeform, the ol' sexual bamboozling, there's no explicit sex but it's still a spicy meatball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures.





	Serenade

Black Hat opened the door a crack, peering out at a now familiar nuisance. Dementia stood half-naked, her top unzipped and clutching her guitar. “Hi!”

Black Hat closed the door. When it became apparent she wasn’t leaving he opened it again. “What do you want?”

“Uh…”

She glanced at her exposed breasts.

“... What, too subtle?”

“Flug was supposed to stop you coming here. Where the hell is he?”

“Did you know if you take your boobs out he looks away? He can’t aim for shit when he does that!”

“I see the hundreds of millions of dollars I gave him to invest in security fall flat in the face of your nipples. That’s really lightened my mood. Do you mind? I’m working.”

“You’re always working.”

“I know, yet you’re always here.”

“I know, right? I have such a good work ethic,” she gushed, late on her contracts. Black Hat rolled his eye. Black Hat reached down, gripped Dementia’s zipper between his nails and pulled it up, covering her again. She wedged her battered guitar in the door, holding it open with her palm. “I,” she declared, waggling it, “am going to serenade you!”

“No.”

“Counterpoint; yes!”

“No.”

“Maybe?”

“No.”

“You’ll love it, I swear.”

“All evidence points to the contrary. You’re getting fingerprints on the wood. Move.”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, sorry! I don’t wanna mess it up. Let me get this out of the way.”

Black Hat watched, lips pursed, as Dementia widened her stance and, with a mighty heave, tore the antique door from its hinges. The wood anchoring it to the doorframe exploded, leaving spiky chunks and the door itself suffered a large split down the middle when she tossed it down the hallway. It scraped the mahogany floor, two irreplaceable bits of his history utterly ruined.

“Now that the door’s out of the way,” she squealed, “we can begin.”

Black Hat let out a heavy, heavy, heavy sigh. Seven seconds long, he counted. He found exasperation far worse than anger, he at least liked being angry.

“Give me a key!”

“If I do, will you promise to lock yourself out of the house and never return?”

“E-flat major!”

“I see you weren’t listening.”

“I’ve written a full rock-opera extravaganza! For us.”

“How long?”

“Four hours,” she boasted.

“Four hours? Four bloody hours?”

“Yeah, I really cut it down.”

Black Hat groaned. A wicked idea came upon him, almost as guileless as the woman in front of him. It was an absurd notion, and stupid, but he was willing to try anything to avoid four hours of torment. “Dementia?”

“Hm?”

“May I make a suggestion before you begin?”

“Oh, sure!”

Black Hat slid a cold, shiny claw up her breast, gliding up her neck and resting calmly at her chin. She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning into the flesh of his palm, as she always did when he held her like this, enjoying the moment before he taunted her. Her eyes shot open when Black Hat’s cool lips pressed to her, firm, but not awkward, and the claw travelled effortlessly to the back of her neck. He ran it through her hair, scratching, as his other hand slipped around her back. Dementia whimpered, kissing back and clutching him tightly, her arms a tangled, gripping mess around his shoulders. He prompted her to adjust her neck with a gentle tug of the hair and slid his teeth across the skin, drawing out sputtering, disbelieving chokes. He held the pose, letting her feel his breath. He moved back to her lips, amused with how soft and pliable she was. Testing this, he gripped her wrist and moved it above her head, failing to suppress a laugh when she held the pose. She shook her head gently, bleary, and Black Hat took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coyly stroking Dementia’s tongue with his own in a way he assumed mimicked inexperience. The very tips of his teeth slid painlessly into her lips, drawing a little blood. He drew his thin tongue across the shallow punctures. She gasped and hitched her leg around his, pulling his hand towards her ass, which he obliged with an amorous squeeze. His point was made and he could stop but found himself drawn further inward until he had scooped Dementia up with his hands and squashed her to a wall, egged on by her pleas to continue. By the time he pressed his hips to hers, he resolved that he should stop because things were quickly running away from him and the act risked moving beyond a cold, distant curiosity to be scrutinized and studied to a growing animalistic urge. A hot, panting, breathing animal under him, under his teeth, soft and open and wet, he could smell her, his tongue pressed to her neck. He wanted this. He deserved this. He deserved everything he ever wanted and he wanted this, to tear aside her skirt and yank her legs apart and drive himself into—

Panting, he finally peeled her off and set her down. Black Hat fixed his breathing, buttoned up his vest, cleared his throat and fixed his tie, and within seconds looked the same as he always did. “Alright, continue.”

Dementia stood, slack-jawed, gawking at nothing, her legs shaking and her hair a mess. Her glassy eyes finally met his. “W— What, uh— d-did—”

“Did what?”

“That— I, um— did we just—?”

“Did we just what?” Black Hat scoffed, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Speak up. Weren’t you in the middle of something? Or do you take pleasure in dragging me away from my work for no reason?”

She stood there, stunned, her cheeks a dark crimson. Part of the gambit was playing with her expectations of Black Hat as a primal, bestial creature. He didn’t mind admitting that he was, but he assumed that her grandest fantasies revolved around him huffing and grunting over her like an animal, clawing out spaces for him to unceremoniously burrow himself in. And he did enjoy that, yes, but putting aside his own preferences for a moment let him catch her off-guard and perplex her. Wild, abominable strength acknowledged but politely displayed. A sincere attempt at passion in a cruel, calculating creature. She looked at him like she didn’t quite believe what just happened and he looked at her like it hadn’t happened at all.

“Well, uh— you— you, uh, y—”

“Well. Go on. Recite that sonnet. Breakdance your affection, or whatever the hell it is you do all day, certainly not your _job.”_

She stood, unable to align her thoughts. She fixed her skirt and smoothed out her top, a stupid, giddy smile spreading across her face. She held her cheeks, unused to bashfulness and amused by its novelty. She hid her face in her hands and, in whirling excitement, scampered off.

“Dementia, please,” Black Hat half-called after her. “I was so interested in your three-part series! The one where we attended ‘high school’ and geared up for ‘prom’ and all the hormonal turbulence that comes after, you seemed so content to read it to me last week!”

“Oh my God, oh my God!”

“What about the one where we’re both werewolves on a deserted island and the only way to break the curse is t—?”

She spun around to face him, electrified. “Maybe next time— oh my God, oh my God—!”

“You forgot your bloody guitar!”

“I’ll come back for it!”

He heard her giggling down the hall. Black Hat pondered if one brief dalliance was enough to offset her constant demands for attention and conceded that further study was required. He adjusted his waistband and, sighing, noted his pressing issue.


End file.
